Finded
by Cascade Waters
Summary: For Rainbowmist.  There's something in the mist. . .


Adapopted – for Rainbowmist

Kaylee and Firechild

Rated: PG13

Disclaimer: We don't own the grownups; the younglings, on the other hand…

Warning: Spanking. Aren't we surprised.

A/N: This is a sort of Christmas gift for Rainbowmist.

This plan had seemed so much… better before, when they couldn't see much around them and could actually imagine not getting caught. Furry had never quite imagined how much work a child could be. Sure, Estie was younger than him—she was still just a kid herself—but he guessed that he just hadn't really paid much attention to the care and keeping of his baby sister, having had frogs to catch and fortresses to build and other such important tasks. Really, though, this all seemed kind of silly; there was nothing for it, of course, not doing it and risking their parents finding out just wouldn't do, but he decided that, on the whole, he was going to stop listening to Thumper.

He thought all of this as he was making yet another trip out to the old canning shed behind his and his cousins' properties. Thumper had voted for his barn (and Estie had wanted to do it in her bedroom, which of course would never work,) but Furry was the oldest, by almost two whole days, and therefore the wisest, and anyway, his vote was the only one that counted. So the canning shed it was—unused, far enough away from the houses that their parents couldn't hear what went on, and with crates that were just big enough.

Furry heard the crying before he reached the shed door, and he closed his eyes and groaned before sighing and doing the super-secret knock. As soon as he'd given the password and Estie had opened the door for him, he carried his basket to the table in the middle of the room and reached up to set it on the surface, which was about nose-high to him. Then he turned toward the crying. "What did you do now, Gala?" His cousin, forty hours his junior and quite sure that she was the smartest Hobbit ever born, straightened from leaning over the cradle crate and glared at him.

"Don't you start on me, Furry-lad! I'm doing the best I can, which is more than I can say for you. It's not my fault she won't go to sleep like a proper baby."

"Hey!" He bristled. "Someone's got to go for food and supplies, ain't he?" He ambled over to Gala's side and looked down to find their… guest in a right fuss. "Oh, now, now," he said, reaching down and dangling a finger for grabbing, remembering at the last second (and at Gala's snotty hem-hem) "don't take on so. You're alright, Misty-lass, yes you are."

On her back in an old crate meant for plum jam, tangled in mismatched but clean blankets and frocked in some of wee Entie's things, lay a baby. Her red-rimmed eyes were a bit more indigo and her curly hair was a bit darker than any Hobbit the cousins had ever seen, but Hobbit she must be—round tummy, proper feet, and a demand for food every two hours. They'd been feeding her good things, too, every tasty thing that they could manage to take—some sweet grapes, rolls made with honey, crisp bread rango-swan shells filled with sweet creamed cheese, and even some of Estella's maple biscuits (though Furry had eaten most of those, fearing that they might be too tough for the baby's few small teeth, and he was pretty sure that Thumper had picked through and taken care of the crispiest rangoes.) Gala had made sure that she was clean and dry, and Estie had sung her the bits and pieces she could remember of at least three lullabies, so they just couldn't figure out why she wouldn't settle down and nap like Entie did after she'd been fed and changed. The young Hobbits had been scurrying around like agitated honey bees, trying to soothe Misty, and Furry would never admit this to his cousins, as he was much too old for such nonsense, but he was beginning to feel that **he** wouldn't object to a wee nap himself.

"Maybe… maybe we should get Mummy." Estie sounded as unsure and regretful as she'd ever been; she'd been thrilled to be included in this great secret (as if the older ones had had a choice in the matter) but unlike her brother and cousins, she didn't understand what would happen if they gave up the 'game' and called on the grownups to take care of Misty.

"Don't be a daftwaldo—of course we'll do nothing of the sort!" Gala snapped shrilly, making the little girl shrink and the baby wail.

"Hey, stuff it, will you?" Furry might find his sister annoying sometimes, but he was her big brother, after all, and it was his job to protect her. "S'not her fault we're in this fix."

"No, it's me knocknoggin brother's." That, they could agree on. Gala glowered, fists on her little hips, toward the door. They could hear Thumper coming toward the shed, and for just a moment, the two eldest cousins both thought of just not letting him in. After all, they wouldn't be in this fix if not for his mad ideas.

_Two days ago_

Winter had come to the Shire, and though the air was unusually warm with the fragrance of dark earth and damp fir, Crickhollow was surrounded by a ruff of thick fog which rolled from the edges of the homesteads all the way back into the woods that no one remembered having been there before the War of the Big Folk. Crickhollow was generally a safe place, but the young ones of the village and surrounding properties had all been warned to stay close to home and to not, under any circumstances, venture into the fog, as it would be much too easy for a wee Hobbit to lose his or her way and turn an ankle on a root, or worse.

And that would have been easy enough to obey, if Estie, who'd been pretending to help Mum hang the wash by clipping stockings and face flannels on the Estie-high line Da had strung last year, hadn't been sure that she'd heard something. Furry had assured her that it was just the creaking sound that the trees made when they bowed to each other (because of course they must, just must be Huorn and would naturally have proper manners) and Gala had simply snorted and muttered something about 'silly children,' but Estie had insisted, and Thumper, who'd just been let out of the house after two days of restriction, had asked her to describe what she'd heard and had actually listened to what she said. That had seemed to settle the little girl, who had gone back to singing and twirling with just-washed stockings on her hands while Gala carried over a chair and sat down to stitch some new nappies for Entie. It would have ended there, if Estie hadn't stopped, gazed toward the fog again, and then run to Thumper, tackling her very favorite cousin and dumping him on his still-tender bum while she excitedly declared that she'd heard it again.

Estie had insisted that they go and find what was making the sounds, worried that a bird might have got bunged up in the fog and needed help, and no amount of reminding her about the rule would deter her; she'd never gotten more than a stern look for her behavior, and in any case, she'd got a double dose of stubbornness and determination to do what seemed right from their parents, and since the rest of them had as well, and since they weren't about to allow a nine-year-old to go off on her own, they all trooped off into the fog, ignoring Gala's declarations that they were all beyond stupid as she trudged in right behind them. It never occurred to any of the four to get their parents—everyone knew that grownups were worse than useless when there was something that needed doing.

They'd no idea how long it took them, wandering in what they hoped was the right direction in the fog (for once, Thumper's penchant for carrying useless odds and ends in his pockets came out not so useless, as they used some of his da's kite string and some of his mum's rickrack to form a chain so that they wouldn't lose Estie or each other) before even snooty Gala had to admit that she also heard the plaintive sound. The children kept meandering, the two seventeen-year-olds stopping every few yards to bicker over how far they'd gone and the direction of the noise, until the fog seemed to darken a bit and something, something that looked suspiciously like a tree limb, reached down and gently nudged Furry between the shoulder blades, urging him to turn a little to the right and keep going. He shook off his startlement long enough to toss back a quick 'thank you,' just in case it had been a tree, before tugging the others in the new direction. Minutes later, the children stumbled upon a pocket where the fog was lighter, and found that they'd reached their goal.

It was no bird—the source of the plaintive cries was a tiny Hobbit baby, her curls damp and her face wet with tears and nose-run. She was on her feet, holding onto a high-arching tree root, but her knees were wobbling as if they were unused to holding her up, and sure enough, they gave out and down she plopped onto a pile of evergreen needles. The foliage was soft, but she had several chubby fingers in her mouth and must have bitten them, for she sobbed outright, looking at the bigger children in frustration before removing her fingers from her mouth and using both fists to rub tiredly at her eyes.

Her audience stood stunned for a few moments before little Estie scampered over and tried to pick up the baby. Furry, seeing disaster in the making, hurried over and took the baby from his small sister, only to have her appropriated by Gala, who declared that Furry had no idea of what to do with a baby and would probably turn her into a filthy boy-child if left to it. For her part, the baby seemed sufficiently distracted from her upset and had stopped crying for the moment.

There was some discussion of what to do with the infant—Estie wanted to dress her up like a doll and keep her in her bedroom, and got angry when the others told her not to be silly. Gala insisted that of course they couldn't keep the child, Furry insisted that they couldn't very well leave her there in the woods, but their bickering was cut short by Thumper, who was quite tired of his sister's snootiness. "Okay, then," he shot challengingly at her, "we can all just take ourselves straight back to Mum and ask her if she would pretty please find a home for the little lass we found in the fog."

Everyone ignored Estie's wail that the baby was theirs 'cause they'd found her fair and square. The older three stood frozen, staring at each other, for a few moments, before Gala hoisted the baby higher up onto her hip, raised her chin, and wordlessly started the march back (hopefully) toward home. Furry had to hand it to Thumper—the kid might be a little mad, but he was right this time, and what's more, he sure could shut up his sister now and again, give the world a bit of peace.

For two days, they'd managed to keep things working fairly well; their little excursion in to the fog had nearly been found out straightaway, but Diamond and Estella had seemed willing enough to accept the hasty explanation that Estie had been playing No-See and that her brother and favorite cousin had had to spend the whole afternoon trudging around pretending not to find her. The boys claimed not to know where Gala had taken herself off to or why she hadn't finished sewing Entie's nappies, and Furry was even nice enough to assure a displeased Estella that Gala had been working on them and would probably come right back to them.

Their parents encouraged them to see to chores and to play out of doors as much as possible, so getting away to the shed wasn't a problem most of the time; the children were careful to tend to their assigned tasks as rapidly as possible so as not to bring trouble (and undue supervision) on themselves, and since they were close kin in blood and bond, no one thought it unusual to see them in one another's houses at any given moment. Mealtimes and nighttime were hardest, though Thumper handled the mealtime problem rather handily by saying that he and Estie had invented a game of being innkeepers and must be attentive to their guests; the mums were so happy that one of the elder children would be so indulgent of little Estie (and that Thumper was keeping out of the neighbor's berry patches—he often had his bum turned the same red as his tongue because the neighbor complained of losing the stock for his berry wines) that they only made issue of supper. That left Furry and Gala to come up with ways to get to the shed during the nights, and they hadn't yet been caught out of bed, but the stress was beginning to make this little adventure less fun and more work than Furry liked. And the baby, whom they'd decided to call Misty because she'd been found in a place where the fog was lighter, wasn't content to just lay in her crate and coo; she climbed and clambered and crawled and sometimes pulled up and toddled, bound and determined to find all of the things that she shouldn't (thankfully, they'd been able to get most of the broken crockery and such out of her reach, but the way she climbed almost like their dads' stories of Elves, that might not last long.)

Being a parent was exhausting, Furry decided.

So when, after unloading the nappies and tea cakes he'd toted over in the basket, Furry stepped out of the canning shed only to run smack into a very familiar shirt and find himself steadied by his 'uncle,' it was almost a relief.

Almost.

"Good evening, good Hobbit. I've journeyed far on an adventure and now come in search of respite; I've heard tell of an inn, a place of legendary comfort. Could you tell me where I might find such a place?"

Uncle Merry was smiling disarmingly, but there was a knowing look in his eyes, and the arms folded across his chest suggested that he might've been standing there for a bit. Furry started to sputter out a response, but was saved (or condemned, or perhaps both) by a familiar angry cry from inside the shed. Before Furry could come up with an explanation, Merry gently pushed past him and entered the shed to find his daughter trying very hard to look innocent and only succeeding in looking very guilty. Gala started to say something about playing with Entie and seemed to miss the eyebrow he slanted at her as he moved across the room toward her and what she was trying to keep him from seeing. Claiming that he would help with his twig, as he called Entie, Merry would not be dissuaded from approaching the crate. He looked down into it and seemed surprised… though perhaps not as surprised as he should have been.

"Well, well, who have we here? Certainly not my wee twig. And just who might you be, lass?" He lifted the baby carefully from the crate, and she seemed fascinated enough with this new face and voice to stop fussing.

"Her name is Misty," Estie piped up helpfully, oblivious to the hole they were all digging. Gala shushed her, but the damage was done.

"Oh, Misty, is it?" Merry looked at his daughter and his cousin's children shifting from foot to foot. "And where does she belong, hmmm?" Gala stuck a hand over Estie's mouth before the little girl could claim the baby, but even Gala didn't seem to know what to say. "Alright, let's try an easier one: where did you lot get hold of her? Was she in here to start with?" Seeing an out, Furry opened his mouth to say yes, but then he caught a headshake from a dark corner. Merry, who had mainly been watching Gala and Estie, sighed. "Right, then. Come on, you lot. I think it's time all of us were nearer food and fire before the cold rolls in." He cuddled Misty close, which seemed to make her happy as she laid her head on him and sucked quietly on her fingers, and Merry led the way out of the shed, knowing that the kids would follow. "Come along, Thumper, you too." No one quite worked out how he'd known that his son was there, but they had bigger worries just now.

Merry was right—the winter wind finally blew in as they trooped back toward his house, carrying on it his call for Pippin and Diamond to 'adventure on over' to his house for tea and tales (Furry groaned, watching his chances of coming out of this unbothered flit away.) And to add to the injustice of the, well, justice, tea was put off as the four parents first fawned over Misty and then demanded the whole story from their children. What followed was a jumble of explanations, interruptions, qualifications, disagreements between the oldest two, big eyes from the younger two, and even a few attempts to protect each other from some of the trouble.

Once the whole tale had been told at least twice through, the adults decided that Pippin and his family would go back across the yard to their house and that Misty would share Entie's room for the night, and that the four grownups would decide in the morning how best to go about trying to find her home and family.

It was definitely cold outside, and definitely warmer inside—particularly, before too long, in a few spots.

Furry heard his full name—Faramir Took—several times that evening, as did Galawyn and Theomer Brandybuck and even Esteletta Took. All of them were in trouble, not only for going into the fog but for lying about what they were up to. Furry knew that he should be hungry, but his stomach was in knots as he sat on his bed and waited for his da. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so old and wise, and that only increased when Pippin came into the room, shut the door, looked at his son, sighed sadly, lifted the boy, sat down on the bed, and easily laid the child over his lap. Furry whimpered when he felt his britches leave his bottom, and yelped when he felt his father's hand meet it. He was sobbing out apologies and promises to be good in less than two minutes; Pippin was usually very easygoing, but apparently he felt strongly about his children doing dangerous things and then not being truthful about it. At one point, Furry haltingly asked if Pippin would forgive him for leading the others into trouble, and Pippin stopped swatting long enough to say that of course he would forgive his son and that, even though he was the eldest and should set a good example (and remember how to say no to Estie,) the other kids were responsible for their own choices and he was being disciplined just for his. Pippin waited until Furry nodded in acknowledgement, then added six more swats to the little scarlet sit-spot and stopped. He rubbed the boy's back soothingly for a couple of minutes and then resettled his son to sit on his lap for a cuddle before leaving him to rest.

The young boy was nearly asleep when he heard his sister start to cry, and he could just make out the sound of swatting. His own bottom started stinging again empathetically, and he went into the hallway, thinking that he'd go stop his da, but he saw his mum outside his sister's door, and she shook her head at him and shooed him back into his room just as the swatting stopped. Furry had barely made it to his bed before his mum lifted him from behind to save him from having to climb in, tucked him in facedown, and kissed his curls. He fell asleep trying to decide if he should be mad at his da for punishing his sister.

Pippin woke his son in the morning and helped him dress, then carried him to the Brandybuck house for breakfast, and Furry didn't protest even once that he was too old to be carried. It felt kind of nice, not just to snuggle close to Pippin but to not be responsible for everything anymore. When they arrived, he got kisses not just from his mum but from his 'auntie' Estella, and a quick backscratch from Merry before Da set him down to try to get comfortable at the table.

Furry discovered that, while his sister seemed fine and the babies were cheerfully tossing porridge at each other from dual high-chairs, Gala was having a hard time getting comfortable, too; she shot him a baleful glare, which she cut off right quick when Merry cleared his throat and looked at her warningly. Apparently, they'd talked about that, too. Furry was still subdued enough to whisper an apology her way, which Pippin firmly reminded them wasn't necessary.

It took a few minutes before Furry worked up the courage to quietly ask the girls where Thumper was. He figured out that the parents weren't letting them out of earshot when Estella answered him instead. "He's still in bed, darling; he's not feeling very social this morning."

"But… but he'll miss first breakfast!" Furry, having himself missed two chances to eat, found the idea of missing a third unconscionable. He narrowed his eyes toward the grownups and got four raised eyebrows in return before Merry clarified.

"He knows he's welcome at table, Furry-lad. He doesn't want to come out. And trust me, missing a meal or two won't actually kill him. But if you'd like to go try to talk him out, that's fine with me." Furry decided that this sounded like a good idea (especially since it involved getting out of the wooden chair) so he rose to do just that. He was passing the high-chairs when Misty bounced in her seat and raised her pudgy arms, clearly demanding that he pick her up. The grownups gave permission, so Furry lifted Misty and toted her back to his cousin's room, where he didn't bother to knock but just went in.

Thumper was buried in his bed and didn't seem inclined to come out, no matter what Furry said. Finally, with a sigh, the older boy said, "Right, then, you leave me no choice," and he set the baby on the bed and watched her crawl up the tiny mountain of Thumper. He could tell when she reached Thumper's backside because he whined thinly, which actually made Misty giggle as she kept going. When she got to the edge of the covers, she sat down and tried to lift a fistful of brown curls to her mouth, and that was what finally brought the fourteen-year-old out of his burrow. He started to sit up and then tearfully rushed to curl up on his side; Misty, who was sitting by his head, leaned over and laid a wet kiss on his cheek.

It took about five minutes of baby kisses and cousin badgering before Thumper finally asked if they were all angry with him. Furry asked why, and Thumper shrugged and said that they usually were. Furry, hearing his da's voice in his head, was forced to admit that this hadn't been Thumper's idea or his fault any more than theirs, and he added that he and Gala were sore, too, and even Estie had got smacked, so Thumper didn't need to worry about anybody teasing him for squirming in his seat. Thumper mumbled that he probably couldn't sit at all, since he'd got in trouble for not one but two lies, but Furry wouldn't give up till his cousin finally agreed to get up and come to breakfast so that Furry wouldn't die of starvation.

Furry mulled over the hard chair vs tender bottom issue all the way back up the hallway, but he was relieved of the problem when Merry scooped up his son and carefully sat the child in his lap, his little bottom cradled so that almost nothing touched it. Finally, they all set to eating a proper meal, with Gala even passing Furry his favorite jam without being asked.

Now they just had to figure out what to do with Misty…


End file.
